on putting up pretenses
by Time Signature
Summary: Draco Malfoy was tired. Tired of holding his head high. He simply didn't want to be seen. And yet he still couldn't deny that he wanted to be seen by one person - Harry Potter, his rival, the "heroine." Genderbending, Draco - fem!Harry.
1. on putting up pretenses

on putting up pretenses

Time Signature

* * *

He was tired of holding his head high. He was much too tired of all the press, the gossip at Hogwarts (Why did he even have to come back for an eighth year? It would have been so much easier if he could have just stayed at home, taking over the family head's duties – alright, maybe not, but…), the impressions that everyone was making of himself and his family…

What his family was going through was his family's business alone. He did not show it, being a Malfoy after all, but all the not-so-subtle stares, the glares from the other Slytherins for betraying the dark side, the teachers trying to be tactful (or in Slughorn's case, not) were slowly bearing on his patience.

Glaring at the surrounding students, who quickly turned away, Draco Malfoy irately pulled out a seat at one of the library's tables and, lacking some of his normal grace, pushed himself into it. He ignored Madam Pince, who had screeched at him for making "such a racket, young man, unsuitable for the library!" Running a hand through his platinum blond hair, he rummaged in his bag for his parchment and quill (summoning was quite forgotten).

And then he realized he had come to borrow a book that he needed for his research, not write. Sighing through his nose, he stood up and walked over to the section containing Transfiguration reference books. He perused the titles and chose one, and then was about to return to his seat when he caught a glimpse of messy black hair that he would recognize anywhere.

His exhaustion disappeared for a moment, replaced by a twisted sense of happiness that he gained only from making fun of the girl that the world praised.

"Well well, if it isn't Our Heroine," he mocked, waiting for her to whirl around angrily.

As expected, Potter whipped around her jet-black hair, her captivating – what?! No, he had meant to say irritating – emerald (Slytherin color, his mind whispered despite his efforts) eyes sparkling with fury, staring straight at him.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" she hissed, apparently not wanting to draw the librarian's attention.

"Hmm, alone today, Potter? I thought you couldn't do anything without the Weasel and the Mud-"

"Don't you dare," Potter cut him off. "And besides, I could say the same thing to you – the gorillas aren't here to protect you anymore, huh?"

Draco laughed condescendingly, saying, "Those two were useless. The fiendfyre was too reckless – anyone would have known that. And what Goyle does is nothing worth my attention."

"That's a horrible thing to say!" she exclaimed. Such a champion of "justice." Then seeing Madam Pince turning toward their direction, she continued quietly, "I mean, yeah, the fiendfyre was somewhat careless, but they were with you for…what, seven years? Their companionship must have been something."

Ten, really, but that didn't matter.

His uncooperative mind murmured again, "The only companionship I ever wanted was yours…"

What?

No, that just wasn't possible. She was Potter. His sworn enemy. The Heroine.

And yet, he still couldn't deny that the only person he had ever truly looked at – or ever truly wanted to be looked at, was her.

Everyone else didn't matter.

End

* * *

First genderbend story. Yush! I have leveled up from "reader" to "writer"~

For the Dream Challenge, "sunglasses – 'perhaps you don't want to see or be seen.'"

A bit cliché, I agree, but I was tired…

Time Signature


	2. on falling facades

on falling facades

Time Signature

"I and my mistress, side by side / Shall be together, breathe and ride, / We rode; it seem'd my spirit flew, / Saw other regions, cities new, / As the world rush'd by on either side." – Robert Browning, "The Last Ride Together"

* * *

On the Quidditch field, the Gryffindor team was huddled around a bright-eyed girl with a determined expression on her face.

"Alright guys, the last Quidditch match of this year – against Slytherin, of course – and also my last one ever, is in three days. We can do this, guys, of course! We've always done it!" encouraged their captain, Harry Potter.

The others around her yelled, nodded, or in some other way expressed their agreement, and Harry had never been more thankful that she had been reinstated in the House team after she had dropped out (all because her teammates had vouched *read: threatened to leave if she did not come back* for her). Quidditch had been one of her best memories of her 8 years – now a little less than half a lifetime – at Hogwarts, from kicking Malfoy's butt big-time to holding the Cup in her hands with Wood and everyone else, and winning the House Cup from that.

"So. We're trying out that secret strategy we've been preparing the entire year, right guys? Up in formation!" she shouted, when Ginny suddenly shot off in the direction of the stands. Quickly jumping on her broom, Harry chased after her.

"What in the world, Ginny," she reprimanded, some strands of her messy long hair before her face, when she noticed what exactly it was.

"The 'ell, Malfoy, are you doing here?"

Malfoy turned his infuriatingly smug face from the redhead to her. "Hm, are you too dumb to tell?"

While Harry was having a staring contest with him (his personality sucked, but his eyes were just captivating), Ginny had her wand out by now, threatening, "If you're spying on us you better leave this instant, you git, if you don't want Bat Bogies up your nose!"

He put his hands up in mock surrender. "Eh, fine, fine, don't want the Slytherins' star player missing because of an injury, do we?"

The girls actually did, but it did not matter if he was leaving. Ginny seemed as though she would stay until he exited the doors, but Harry told her to go, saying that she would take care of it. The younger girl still looked irked, but she sped off back into the formation.

Harry continued glaring at him, who was taking an absurdly long amount of time. He looked straight back, but not with that Malfoy smirk that she was so used to – he had more of a contemplating, pondering sort of expression, something extremely strange.

It was honestly creeping her out. Glancing back one last time, she returned to her teammates, who had been watching the entire occurrence.

After huffing in annoyance at Malfoy's weird behavior (not that this was the first time, he was always weird and irritating), she decided to forget the entire thing. They only had one more practice until the final game.

* * *

The days had passed by so quickly, Harry thought, as she donned her red-and-gold uniform and walked out, head high, smiling at the sea of Gryffindor supporters that cheered loudly for her and the 6 behind her.

She waited for the Slytherins to come out of the opposing entrance so they could "shake hands," more like try to crush them, and begin.

Shortly she was faced by their captain.

Oh joy, the insufferable Malfoy.

A sing-song voice in her brain called, "I'm a poet and I didn't even know it," before she swatted that thought away and locked eyes with him.

"You're going down," both silver and emerald eyes stated.

Madam Hooch shouted, "Shake hands!"

Listlessly stepping forward, she extended her hand. Malfoy stared at it for a split second with – what was that, no, that had to be a mistake, that couldn't possibly have been wistfulness or something (ew) – before clenching it tightly.

Slightly unnerved (oh, had that been his tactic? It hadn't worked, by the way), Harry mounted her broom.

The whistle blew.

They rocketed upwards, and Harry felt impavid. She felt invincible. The wind whistling past her ears and through her hair, the world blurring together, everything was where she belonged. Her "caim," was that right? Listening to Seamus's commentary, she faintly recalled him saying that…

But now was not the time. Her eyes darted back and forth for a telltale sign of gold.

"Gryffindor, 40-20! Look at Thomas go-'EY, THAT WAS DIRTY!" the _sonorus_-amplified voice boomed.

But she had been expecting it – they were the Slytherins, after all. She tuned everyone out, searching for the Snitch, and –

There!

The girl rapidly accelerated her treasured Firebolt, when Malfoy noticed her and gave chase on his broom. He almost caught up – he was right behind her – his arm was reaching for her broom – no, no, _no!_ She would fall!

A traumatizing memory flashed before her eyes; she jerked upwards, pretending that the Snitch had gone up as well. And Malfoy, being as gullible as he was, only focusing on her and not the Snitch, followed her. She had escaped falling, but she had lost the Snitch because of him.

She quickly turned back to stick her tongue out childishly, when he muttered almost inaudibly, "You look cute when you do that."

_The 'ell?!_

She barely caught her balance. She hadn't fallen then, to nearly fall now?!

Her eyes, owlishly wide, gaped at him. He seemed to have noticed that he had said it aloud, and pink tinted his pale cheeks before he tried to hide his embarrassment with a smirk – but the pink was still there, thanks to his albino complexion.

For an instant, they were focused only on each other, her turned half-backwards (dangerous: do not attempt, a tiny voice chirped), the rest of the world rushing by on either side.

"Gryffindor, still 90-80, thanks to Weasley's brilliant save!"

That shook her back to reality. It was her last Quidditch match and she would win. Think about him later.

The snakes were 10 points behind; she needed to catch the Snitch…

Suddenly, it was just _there. _Next to him, behind his ear.

…Hadn't this happened a few years ago as well? Did Snitches like Malfoy too, not just the entire female population with a few notable exceptions?

But she still stretched out her arm, quickly but gently, and cupped it inside her hand.

And then,

chaos.

Red and gold and shouting and yelling and cheering and booing and absolute mayhem.

Everyone laughing, carrying her up as she held this year's Quidditch Cup high into the air.

She snuck a look at Malfoy, and he had an almost calm face, and he was mouthing – "I could never win against you."

Harry couldn't hide the smile on her face. And for some odd, crazy, idiotic reason, she blamed it on the giddiness of winning, she found herself mouthing back, "Meet me later."

He raised an eyebrow, and Harry could tell, "Where?"

"…I don't know," she shaped.

He cracked a grin. "Okay then, I'll catch you later."

Grudgingly, the girl admitted that he could look nice if he tried. Or even if he didn't, for that matter…

His personality still sucked, though. She was doggedly ignoring his "cute" comment from earlier. It was a Quidditch tactic, yes, that was what it had been…

And then the world caught up to her, and she soon forgot about him and whatever had transpired.

Until after dinner, when he had somehow managed to discreetly pull up behind her. Before she could jump out of her skin, however, he pulled her behind the nearest statue.

Thankfully, the alcove was rather large.

"So, what?" she whispered.

He replied, "You told me to see you."

…He had a point.

She determinedly looked sideways, muttering, "Uh, I don't know what came over me…" then heard soft chuckles.

"Merlin, you might be cute."

Again?! Twice in a day?! Malfoy?! Cute?! Me?!

Harry whirled back, eyes wide and shocked, when Malfoy's handsome – wait, no – face _waytooclosewaitwhat_

…Hmm, you know, I think it's a little hard to breathe, and somehow I can't see the red and gold because there's a pair of silver eyes staring at me…

Ah.

Wait.

Harry pulled back so fast she heard her neck snapping. Ouch. But…

But but but…

Did Malfoy just…

ki…ki…pbfffft I can't say it!

While she was still doing her best imitation of a fish out of water, he murmured almost inaudibly, "I love you, you know."

No, I don't know.

Her mind blanked. Too much shock. She darted out of the niche and discreetly joined the mass of students going to the Gryffindor tower. The entire time back to her common room, her shoulders were tense.

She searched for her two best friends. Cuddling in a corner. Okay good, no one was going to look for her. She went to her bed and flopped down. Her head was still reeling.

He's too complicated, Malfoy is. I don't know which one's better – him hating me, or him saying he loves me.

…Wait, that one should've been a no-brainer.

She should've been able to answer that in a snap – of course him loving her should've been much worse.

But then why had she felt a tiny bit of euphoria when he had…said that…?

His strangeness had rubbed off on her. Yes, that must be the reason. Yes, there was nothing going on…of course not. Malfoy was cute, but a jerk.

She thought she had convinced herself, and yet, when he later confronted her, she found herself saying,

"…I do too."

End

* * *

A request sequel for "on putting up pretenses," for Book Thief challenge #1"The only thing worse than a boy who hates you: a boy who loves you," for Poems into Stories challenge #13, Star Challenge Canopus (second best), Fanfiction category terms challenge OOC, Interesting words "impavid" and "caim."

The ending's…meh. I agree. I just wanted to wrap it up and be done with it. It started to drag.


End file.
